Keep

by Rachel Van Dyken

  I clenched my teeth so I wouldn’t moan and make a complete fool out of myself, as he braced himself with his elbows and leaned upward. “My turn?”

  I nodded.

  He locked eyes with me, a flicker of emotion crossed his face, emotion that looked like doubt—fear. “It’s not real.”

  “What’s not real?”

  “I’m Saint, care to confess your sins?” he asked in his dark, sultry voice. Then he shrugged, completely back into character. “The girls. The tweets. The pictures. The photo shoots. If people see that I’m that way, then I control it, they want the sinner with the name of saint. They don’t want the guy who goes home early after concerts and works or crashes, they don’t want the guy who watches reality TV and eats too many marshmallows. The world demands good guys—yet the good guys never win. The bad guys? The monsters? The alphas? The players? They’re glorified, we glorify them. Therefore, my agent created a persona, and I went with it, because it works for my brand, it works for me, but it’s not really me.”

  I frowned. “So none of it is real? But there are pictures and—“

  “You see what I want you to see. You see what my brand wants you to see, a guy who loves women possibly too much, who relishes in the bad, and looks so damn good doing it, it must be okay. You see Saint Andrews, the popstar.”

  “Then who are you? Really?”

  He hesitated, then reached up and brushed a kiss across my cheek. “Zane Andrews, the virgin.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Fallon

  WAVES CRASHED INTO THE rocky shore. Seagulls screeched in the distance.

  I stared.

  “Are you going to pass out or something?” Zane whispered, “Because my other confession is I don’t know CPR well enough to save you from the birds before they start feeding off your cute little body.”

  I gasped and then stumbled backwards with a horrified expression. “I’m the most horrible person on this planet.”

  “Fallon—”

  “I am.” Tears clogged in my throat. “I just assumed, like everyone else, and you let me, but I mean what were you supposed to do and—” My head pounded, and I struggled for breath. “I’ve been basically accusing you of being a complete slut to your face for the past two weeks.”

  He winced. “Right, but in your defense, you didn’t know.”

  “No!” I stood and started pacing. “Don’t take it easy on me. I’ve always taken pride in being one of those people, the kind that don’t judge, that just accept people as they are, but I’m a complete hypocrite!”

  “Stop pacing, the sand ants might get you.” Zane crossed his arms and yawned, while I started jumping into the air and slamming my feet against the sand in an effort to kill them all. “Or you could just scare them, so they willingly sacrifice their lives via a flip-flop earthquake.”

  “Are they on me? Are any on me?” I screamed running around in a circle while trying to shake the sand out of my clothes.

  “Yeah, like five hundred. We may have to burn your clothes. Well, sorry to say this, Fallon, but you need to strip.”

  I stopped and glared. “You’re not funny.”

  “I’m hilarious.” He winked. “Now where are we on the whole stripping thing?”

  I shuddered as I looked down at my arm and of course, one ant, one tiny ant was crawling toward my face, it was enough to make me scream all over again, this time launching myself in Zane’s direction. “Get it off!”

  “Whoa!” He backed up while I flailed my arm in front of his face.

  “GET IT OFF!” I yelled louder, my arm sailing into his nose, I heard a crunching noise before he cursed and fell to the ground holding his face.

  “Oh, no!” I fell to my knees and grabbed his arm. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry!”

  He tilted his head back. “I’m pretty sure you just punched me in the face over an ant.”

  “I think it was…red.” Like my face. Lame excuse.

  His eyes teared up as he blinked a few times then narrowed his gaze on me. “You do realize I went from confessing one of my biggest secrets in the world to you, to getting punched in the face, all within the span of three minutes, doesn’t really bode well for this friendship, right?”

  “Sorry.” I cringed. “But you were the one who said something about ants!”

  “Because the minute I told you I was a virgin you couldn’t get away quick enough!” he shouted back.

  “Because that makes you too perfect!” I matched his voice, shoving my body against his. “You aren’t allowed to be a virgin too! It’s not fair! Maybe that’s why I punched you! It’s the universe’s way of getting even!”

  “The hell it is!” he roared and then winced. “I’m being punished for having self-control, is that it?” He spread his arms wide and then lay back against the sand. “May as well let the ants take me.”

  “That’s suicide,” I joked.

  “We had some good times.” Zane closed his eyes and smirked. “But I think I’ll take my chances with the ants, at least they want to touch me.”

  “I think any woman with the ability to breathe and at least chase you down, wants to touch you.”

  “Ah, the man becomes the antelope, the woman the lion.”

  “Yes.” I laughed. “Exactly where I was going with that analogy.”

  “Well, at least I like antelope.”

  “Have you ever even met one?” I rolled my eyes and lay against his chest. My hand found his, he squeezed.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, you don’t meet antelope, you discover them in the wild, and I can attest to them being completely friendly. Clearly, it’s the ants you need to worry about. And the local girls with glasses who somehow know how to pack a punch in tiny little bodies.”

  “Sorry.” I cringed, ducking my head into his chest further. “But look? I’m lying down with you and the ants.”

  “It’s almost like Romeo and Juliet, both willing to die for one another.”

  “Yes.” I laughed against his chest. “Exactly like that.”

  “Come bitter conduct! Come unsavory guide! Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on. The dashing rocks thy seasick, weary bark! Here’s to my love. O true apothecary!”

  “Thy drugs are quick,” I added in a hoarse whisper as Zane leaned down, tilting my chin toward his lips.

  “Thus,” he whispered gruffly. “With a kiss…I die.”

  And Zane Andrews kissed me.

  Again.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Zane

  I WAS KISSING HER again.

  It was becoming a thing, just like casual hand holding, or touching her, my lips had this insane mad desire to taste hers—and I watched myself, the self-control, the insecurity of people using me for their own selfish reasons, slowly slip away with each piece of myself I gave—each piece she took.

  Because that’s what kissing was.

  Personal.

  Intimate.

  A very real way to share your feelings about someone without actually saying them—I was a wordsmith, it was my job to make people believe with my words that I was in love with them, that I was in love with love.

  But my lips?

  They had always been mine.

  My virginity, mine.

  They couldn’t take it—because I refused to give it.

  Nobody should ever feel like they have to give pieces of themselves in order to gain love, security, acceptance, I knew that better than anyone did—because I’d had to grow up without all of the above.

  Until finally, I was given it right along with fame.

  But like so many things, it was reserved for when my albums sold, when I made people money. It wasn’t real.

  Until now.

  Now it felt real.

  In her arms, it was beginning to feel too real.

  “Zane.” Fallon pulled away, her black glasses askew on her face, a few freckles made themselves known, just adding to her cute face. “You probably need to stop quoting Shakespeare and kissing
me on the beach if you want to stay friends.”

  “Wise words,” I said in a gruff voice, kissing her softly one more time before pulling back. “Would you believe me if I said that my self-control was finally waning?”

  “No.” Her cheeks flushed.

  “Why?”

  “Because a guy like you doesn’t wait twenty-three years in order to find someone worthy of every single piece of him—to suddenly offer it up to some legally blind local girl with a fear of ants.”

  “Red ants,” I clarified.

  “Yes.” She puffed up her cheeks and exhaled slowly. “Red ants.”

  “I disagree.”

  “About the ants?” She frowned.

  “About the girl.”

  “Zane don’t—”

  “Some might say it’s our fears that make us unique, different, special.”

  “My fear of ants makes me stand out? Is that what you’re saying?” She stood and offered her hand, I took it and stood along with her, dusting sand off my body while she pulled her hair into a messy bun and crossed her arms.

  “What if I wanted that?” I asked, a bit afraid of her answer.

  “What?”

  “Everything.” I grabbed her hands. “What if I asked you for everything?”

  She released my hands and swallowed. “I’d have to say no.”

  “Have to? Or want to?”

  “Have to.”

  I reached for her again, just as a loud scream pierced the air and then another and another.

  “Shit,” I muttered, jerking my hand back, out of fear that someone would snap a picture and create pure hell for her, but I don’t think she saw it that way. Instead, she flinched, as if I was rejecting her when she was the one doing that exact thing to me not more than ten seconds ago.

  “SAINT! SAINT! SAINT!” Chanting started, and sure enough, about seven or eight girls swarmed around the bend and into our little alcove.

  I reached into my pocket and crunched some marshmallows between my fingers, struggling to keep a smile frozen on my face, but really, I would rather hold her hand, I’d rather she anchor me than sugar.

  And that was my first mistake.

  Relying on a person?

  Always was.

  Because once you love them—you risk losing them.

  At least marshmallows—were always there. As stupid as it sounded, they were always available, and Fallon? She was currently walking away.

  From me.

  From anything to do with me.

  And I had to wonder if she cared that part of my heart cracked in half in a desperate attempt to join her.

  “SOMEONE’S IN A SHITTY mood.” Demetri whistled under his breath while strumming a few chords of the song I’d just delivered, on time, might I add, for the soundtrack.

  I glared, but said nothing, just abandoned my guitar and walked over to the baby grand and started playing the song.

  Alec whistled. “I like it.”

  I nodded, still not trusting my voice to speak.

  I was too angry.

  A lot defeated.

  And probably just as confused as she was.

  We were friends, right?

  So why abandon me on the beach? I found her an hour later by the car waiting, as if she hadn’t just left me to the fans, by myself. When I asked if she was afraid I would freak out again answered with one word.

  “No.”

  Followed by one-word answers for every subsequent question.

  Did she have fun?

  Yes.

  Any ant bites?

  No.

  Did she still want to be friends?

  Yes.

  Lame. That last one was lame, but her smiles were forced, and she just seemed…sad. I wanted the happy girl on the beach, the one who had punched me in the face and apologized for slut shaming me.

  I wanted that girl.

  No one else.

  And she didn’t want me back.

  “Easy on the keys man,” Alec whispered gruffly.

  Her smile had been polite, her thank you hollow, and when I squeezed her hand after dropping her off at her house, she’d pulled away and said good luck with recording.

  That was it, like break a leg!

  Kill it, Saint!

  “Shit, I think he’s going to break the piano.” Demetri muttered. “Should we get Jay?”

  She sounded like my freaking manager or agent.

  I had those.

  What I needed was someone I could share souls with—someone I could open up to, be insecure with, laugh with, cry with.

  I pounded the piano harder and harder.

  Damn it. I needed someone to be angry with!

  I’d messed up by telling her, I knew I shouldn’t have, but she kept pushing and pushing and all I kept thinking was, if I tell her, then this is it.

  That’s it.

  I’ll be moving forward.

  Because limbo sucks.

  “Well, at least he’s channeling his emotions.” Came a new voice in the studio. “I was beginning to worry his next song was going to sound like a One Direction reject.”

  “Blasphemy.” Alec said in a bored tone while Demetri hissed.

  With a sigh, I looked up from the piano and let out a string of curses that would have made any sinner proud.

  “Will.” I ignored his look of irritation and glanced back down at the piano and started the song over again.

  “Has he been like this long?” Will asked.

  “Right here.” I said over my own loud playing. “You want an album? You want a song? I’ll give you a damn song.”

  And that’s when I started to sing.

  Instead of feeling and letting the feeling dictate the sound of the keys as I played, I sang.

  And it was…

  “Perfection,” Alec said behind me, and then a guitar joined, and Demetri’s higher voice added the perfect harmony.

  “Did you know you lost me tonight?” I crooned. “Leave you, like you left me, just walk away, you always walk away. Take my life away, take my bleeding heart, I’ll allow it.” I breathed. “I allow the pain, I allow the pain, Allow it.” The tempo picked up. “Did you know you lost me tonight? I’ll allow it, a thousand times, I’ll allow it.” Alec joined in with both of us on the melody. “Walk away, tonight, walk away, I’ll allow it.”

  I stopped playing, chest heaving, as I stared down at my hands.

  The music stopped.

  The room was silent, and then Demetri added. “Guys, I think someone broke Zane.”

  “Good.” Will, the son of a bitch, said from the sound booth. “He needed breaking.”

  I flipped him off, hating that he was right, hating that he was probably the only agent in the universe that truly understood my pain, my process, my past.

  “Now,” Will’s voice was commanding. “Do it again.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Fallon

  “ARE YOU SICK?” MAGS leaned forward and pressed her palm to my forehead. “Hmm, you feel warm.”

  I shoved her hand away. “You don’t even know what you’re doing.”

  She held up her hands and then reached for her coffee, chewing on the lid like it was a straw. “You know, you’ve been on edge for the past week.”

  One week.

  ONE full week of no Zane.

  No texts.

  Nothing.

  And in my gut, I knew it was partially my fault. I’d walked away, he’d shared a part of himself with me, a part that nobody knew, and I’d walked away. Because he scared me, his intensity scared me, he was a forever guy, now more than ever. I shuddered, rubbing my hands up and down my arms.

  “You were happy,” Mags pointed out. “Until your little excursion with our fun little popstar on the beach.”

  I jerked my head up. “How did you even know about that?”

  She rolled her eyes. “You really need to subscribe to more gossip magazines or at least pay attention when you check out at the grocery store.” She held up her
finger and scrolled through her phone then pointed the screen at me. “Zane and his new love interest in Cannon Beach love nest.”

  “Huh.” I frowned. “Love nest? Clever.”

  “Right?” Mags shook her head. “The article says you’re going to be having his love child in about six months.”

  I glanced down. “So I look three months pregnant?”

  “Maybe stop eating your feelings…” she joked.

  I rolled my eyes and tried not to pout, but the sick feeling remained, I wanted to puke, because I’d lost a friend, a good friend, and it was my fault.

  “Ugh…” I leaned over the table and pressed my forehead against the cool metal. “I’m so stupid.”

  “Ahhh, so he slept with you, you freaked and ran out?”

  “Hah.” I licked my lips. “No, that would be impossible.”

  “The freaking out part or the running part?”

  “The sex part.”

  “It’s Zane Andrews.” Mags said slowly. “He sleeps with anything that walks and proclaims itself to have a vagina.”

  “Gross.” I prickled with irritation. “And that’s not true.”

  “Oh, no.” Her smile was sad as she reached across the table and patted my hand. “He’s got you in his web of sex, doesn’t he? Let me guess, you get to be his new submissive, all you have to do is sign a really long and inappropriate contract?”

  I knew she was joking.

  But it still stung.

  I was literally offended on his behalf.

  How did he deal with it every day? The constant jabs at his character.

  “He’s not like that.” I whispered. “Not at all.”

  “Oh, honey.” Mags sighed. “Look, I know you see the best in everyone—”

  “Mags, seriously, he’s not.” I didn’t know how else to say it.

  She moved from her seat across from me and wrapped an arm around my body in a hug. “The truth doesn’t lie, my poor innocent sex starved friend. He’s a whore.”

  “No, he’s not!” I jerked away from her. “Trust me when I say, he hasn’t slept with anyone…for…a while.”

  “A day?” She joked. “An hour? Five minutes?”

  “Ever!” I blurted. “Okay? So just, can we drop it? He’s a good guy, and it pisses me off to hear people talk about him like he isn’t.”